


Stiles from State Farm

by Rehfan



Series: Stiles from State Farm [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Implied Voyeurism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Phone Sex, anal penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey. Stiles isn't saying it's right. And he will get fired for it because they record all the phone calls, but phone sex can be AWESOME.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiles from State Farm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FandumbGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandumbGirl/gifts).



> This story in NO WAY implies that the people who ACTUALLY work for State Farm would do this.  
> Do NOT call them expecting phone sex to result.  
> They are not all Stiles Stilinski.

“Thank you for calling State Farm. My name is Stiles. How can I help you today?”

The voice on the other end of the line sounded friendly enough but Scott swallowed hard anyway. He’d been putting off this call for weeks and now that his 21st birthday had come and gone, his mom wanted him to get his own insurance. It was only fair. After all, buying him his first car was his father’s idea, not hers.

“Well…. It’ll be safer than your dirt bike, Scott,” his mother had said after she took a look at what Raph called “winning his son back”. She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t argue. “Werewolf or not, I’d feel better if you didn’t ride that thing everywhere. And besides, it’d be nice if you were actually able to pick up the groceries from time to time.”

He had sighed and told her “Fine. I’ll do it.” She gave him the number to call. And so here he was, at almost midnight, calling. And talking to a guy who called himself Stiles. Right. Okay.

“Hello, Mr. Stiles,” began Scott.

“No, no, man,” said the voice, “it’s just Stiles. It’s my first name. Although, I get that a lot.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” said Scott. He could feel the blush spreading up his neck as his heartbeat picked up.

The easy laugh that came over the line was surprisingly calming. “It’s alright. How can I help you?”

“Um… yeah,” said Scott. “I need a policy.”

“Ok,” said Stiles, “what do you want to insure?”

“My car,” said Scott.

“What’s the year, make, and model?”

“It’s a 1983 Jeep CJ-5.”

“Oh… my…god… are you kidding me?”

Scott is instantly defensive. “What? It’s my dad’s stupid idea to get it in the first place. I can’t help it if he thinks older cars ‘build a driver’s character’ and shit like that.”

“No! No! It’s not that… it’s just… I have an ‘82 CJ-5.”

Scott paused, stunned. “Are you kidding?”

“No, man!” said Stiles, clearly excited. “That’s awesome!”

“Yeah,” agreed Scott. “So…” Scott shifted conversation back to the subject at hand. “Does insurance cost a lot?”

“How old are you?” asked Stiles.

“Twenty-one.”

“And male,” said Stiles. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.”

“Anyone else gonna be on the policy?” asked Stiles.

“No,” said Scott. “Is that bad?”

“Well,” sighed Stiles. “It’s not good. I mean, it’s cheaper than if you were sixteen, but it’s not good.”

“Really?” asked Scott, his palms sweating again. He may have to ask Dr. Deaton for another raise. Or start selling his body on the street corner.

“Let’s get some more information,” said Stiles. “And I’ll explain all the basic coverages to you.”

Two hours and one ridiculously astronomical cost quote later, Scott was staring off into space as Stiles called his name on the other end of the line. “Scott? Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah,” said Scott, wincing. “I really can’t afford that.”

“Well,” said Stiles, “think of it as a ballpark number to work with when you call around. The other thing is, you have no credit rating right now, so you’re considered a high risk because of that. So your age, no credit, the fact that you’re male… it all adds up to a pretty high premium no matter who you go with. And that’s just the basic policy. There’s all kinds of stuff you can add.”

“I think I’ll just stick with my dirtbike,” mumbled Scott.

“Dude, you have a dirtbike?”

“Yeah,” said Scott. “But I don’t want to keep you. It’s 2am here and you’re probably in some other time zone and ready to go home or something. Thanks for your help, Stiles. Cool talking to you, man.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” said Stiles. His voice shifted a little when he said: “You know I’m like, twenty minutes from Beacon Hills right now?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “I work the graveyard shift because I have school. College, actually.”

“Oh wow,” said Scott. “Which one?”

“Sutter College. You know it?”

“Yeah! I got accepted there, but it was cheaper for me to do an associates at Beacon Hills Community College.”

“What are you studying?”

“Veterinary science. You?”

“Criminal justice.”

“Wow,” said Scott. “You want to be a lawyer or something?”

“Private investigator,” said Stiles. “My dad’s in law enforcement.”

They talked and talked and talked like that for two more hours. Scott was stretched out on his bed and stifling a yawn as he listened to Stiles go on about the Mets. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?” he asked.

Scott sat up. “No! No way! It’s cool that you’re… uh… passionate.”

“What are you passionate about?” asked Stiles.

“Helping animals. Helping people. My mom’s a nurse, so I guess it’s in the blood.”

“That’s cool.”

For the first time in hours, there was a pause in their conversation.

“I should let you go get some sleep,” said Stiles. “It’s 4am.”

“I don’t think I can sleep,” said Scott.

“Why not?” asked Stiles.

“My brain’s buzzing with all this info about insurance and coverages and then talking to you all this time. You know,” said Scott, “you might get fired for being on the phone this long with me.”

“Could be,” said Stiles, “they always find some stupid reason to fire people around here. It’s how things are. If you take more that the standard amount of break time more than twice, it’s a write-up. Do it again, and they write you up again. Do it after that - then they fire you.”

“I take it you’re on write-up number two.”

“How did you know?” Stiles laughed. “It’s stupid. Nah,” he added, “if they’re going to fire me, let them fire me for doing something really bad.”

“Like what?”

“Like… having phone sex with a customer.”

Scott laughed hard at that and was suddenly grateful that his mother had taken the graveyard shift herself that night. He would have woken her up.

“What?” asked Stiles in a mock-defensive tone. “It could happen!”

“Sure,” said Scott. “And how is that supposed to start anyway? ‘Hi, this is Stiles from State Farm… what are you wearing?’” Scott let out another peal of laughter.

Stiles was laughing too. “Well?” he asked.

“Well what?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Shut up, man,” said Scott. He wasn’t sure if Stiles was joking any more, but something in his spine tingled at the thought.

“Well…” began Stiles, “I don’t know about you, man, but that sort of thing would help me sleep like a baby. And you just said you were gonna have trouble going to sleep.”

Scott was stunned to silence. After a second he found his tongue: “Are you serious right now?”

“Look,” said Stiles, honestly. “I hate this gig. But I don’t want to get fired for some wishy-washy reason. I want to go down in flames. Become a legend. I’m game if you are.”

Scott laid back down on the bed and took a breath. It would help him sleep. And Stiles’ voice was incredibly awesome. “You any good at this?”

“We’re gonna find out,” said Stiles.

Scott took another steadying breath and closed his eyes.

 

~080~

 

“You really don’t care if they fire you?” asked Scott. Heat was spreading south and he wanted this to really be happening, but could it be?

“I don’t care, man,” said Stiles. “What are you wearing? Seriously.”

“Um… a Halsey t-shirt and my sweats?”

“Cool chick, Halsey,” said Stiles. “Put your hand under your shirt and slowly run it up your stomach and down.”

“Yeah,” said Scott, “I really dig her music. Um… Am I supposed to take orders from you? I mean, is that how this works?”

“Uh,” said Stiles, “to be honest, not sure. How do you want to do this?”

“I don’t mind you telling me,” said Scott. “It’s nice not to think about it.”

“Okay,” said Stiles. “So you’re doing the shirt, belly thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” said Stiles. “Take the shirt off. Don’t want to ruin a good shirt.” After a pause he added: “What do you look like, Scott?”

“Um… I’m Mexican so dark hair, dark eyes, five-foot-ten,” he managed to say as he pulled his shirt off and threw it on the floor.

“You work out?”

“I skateboard a lot,” said Scott. “Like to box too but I don’t do that as much.”

“I don’t really do anything either,” admitted Stiles. “And I’m uh… standard white dude. Same height tho. And I’ve got dark hair and brown eyes.”

“My jaw’s a little uneven,” said Scott. His hand had wandered down to his groin and back up on his belly. He felt a flush of guilt in not sticking to what Stiles was telling him to do.

“I’ve got these moles on my skin,” said Stiles. “Little ones. Just, you know, here and there.”

“Cool,” said Scott. “Are you touching yourself too?”

“Uh,” said Stiles,” I wasn’t going to. I mean, if they fire me, fine. But I don’t want to get arrested.”

“Right,” said Scott. “Okay. So… what now?”

“Are you hard right now?” Stile’s voice was breathier and a bit louder, as if he were whispering and had brought the microphone closer to his mouth in order to be heard. Scott thought it a vast improvement.

“Getting there.”

“Go ahead and give your dick a squeeze. Rub it through the material.”

Scott let out a groan. It felt good to have permission to touch and his body responded beautifully. What was once a semi-hard erection, blossomed into a full hard-on in seconds.

“Shit,” Stiles whispered. “Dude, that was hot.”

“This whole thing is hot,” said Scott. “Can I pull it out?”

“Does it hurt?”

“It’s throbbing.”

“Fuck.”

There was a pause. “Stiles?”

“Sorry,” said Stiles, “yeah, um… no. Don’t pull it out yet. Keep rubbing until precum soaks through the cloth.”

“Shit,” said Scott. His hips canted with the light stroke he managed along the underside of his cock as it strained the material. “Oh fuck, Stiles. I wish you could see this.”

“Me too,” said Stiles. “After this, maybe we could meet up or something.”

Scott smiled. “That sounds amazing.”

“Describe what you’re doing,” said Stiles.

“My dick is fucking rock hard, man. I’m only using my fingertips to rub the underside of it from my balls to my tip. The cloth is starting to get wet.”

“Shit shit shit… perfect, Scotty,” said Stiles. “Keep that up. Just let it be a slow burn. Where’s your other hand?”

“Holding the phone.”

“Oh, right,” said Stiles. “Can you put me on speaker?”

“Sure.”

There was a pause and a shuffle on the line as Scott put the phone next to his head on the pillow.

“O-okay,” said Scott. His breath was starting to hitch when he spoke. If he wasn’t careful, this would be over too soon.

“Good,” said Stiles in the same breathy whisper, “now take your other hand and play with your nipples.”

“Ok,” said Scott. The tingle he felt when he pulled gently at the small nubbin of flesh was delicious. But these were only teasing touches. Scott knew that there was so much more to come. “Ah… that’s good, Stiles. Can I have more?”

“Oh shit, man,” said Stiles. “You asking just got me so fucking hard right now. You sound so hot, Scotty.”

“I just want to do filthy things for you, Stiles,” Scott admitted. “Tell me what you want next.”

“I just picture you licking your lips and rocking your hips back and forth,” said Stiles.

“That’s pretty much what’s happening, man,” said Scott.

“Oh fuck yeah.”

“Mmmnnnfffuck! Please, Stiles. Please tell me what’s next?”

“Massage your ball sack too, Scotty,” said Stiles. “Nice and slow.”

“Unnngh,” said Scott. His balls felt heavy and a bit warm with blood flow. He palmed at his cock and wrapped his fingers down and around his balls, only to trail his fingertips up the underside of them and straight up his cock, gliding them back down again to repeat the motion. “Dammit.”

“How’s that precum, dude?”

“Fucking wet spot in my pants, man,” said Scotty, putting his chin to his chest to see. “Ughhh… can I do it? Can I? Please?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles. “Drag that cock out into the open, Scott.”

“Fuck yeah,” said Scott and pulled off his sweat pants faster than he had ever done before in his life. He flung them hard against the back of his door. The metal grommets rattled against the wood.

“What was that?”

“My pants hitting my bedroom door,” said Scott, a tad breathless. “That feels better. Now we can play.”

That soft easy laugh came over the phone. “Easy, Scotty.”

“This is just so fucking filthy and crazy,” laughed Scott. “I like you.”

“This is incredibly crazy,” said Stiles. “And I’m pretty sure that anyone who listens to this call later will-”

“Wait,” said Scott. “What?”

“What? All our calls are recorded for ‘quality assurance’. Didn’t you know that?” asked Stiles.

“Uh… Am I going to be arrested or something?”

“No,” said Stiles. “You didn’t solicit me. I solicited you. It’s all on the tape. You’re just agreeing to it. It’s all good, man.”

“Yeah, but someone’s listening right now, right?”

“No,” said Stiles. “It’s recorded to a computer databank. It’s all good. They won’t know about it until they check the time on this call and then they’ll be ready to listen to the call and fire me. It’s no big deal.”

“Shit man,” said Scott, laughing, “you are completely crazy.”

“Pretty much,” said Stiles. “You still hard for me, you dirty boy?”

“Mmmmmyeah,” said Scott, giving himself a few hard strokes to get back what his temporary fear had lost him.

“Good,” said Stiles. “Lick a finger on your free hand and circle your hole with it.”

“I have lube,” said Scott.

“Good, we’ll use that in a second. For right now, just lick your finger and get your hole wet for me.”

Scott stuck his finger in his mouth all the way up to the last knuckle and slowly pulled it out as if Stiles were there to bear witness. _What am I doing_ , he thought, _Stiles isn’t here to see me do that._ He felt a blush of humiliation pass over him and shrugged it away. If he got his way, he’d be seeing Stiles soon enough.

“Got it?” asked Stiles.

“Yeah,” said Scott. “You should see me, Stiles. Got my knees up, dick out, stroking my dick and my hole for you. Fuck.”

“Son of a-” said Stiles. “Okay… damn. That’s a hell of a picture.”

“And I’ll tell you something else,” said Scott.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t care if they’re listening,” said Scott. “This is seriously the hottest fucking thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Me too,” said Stiles, giggling.

“More, Stiles. More.”

“Grab the lube then, babe.”

Scott shot out a hand to his bedside table drawer, rummaged around and pulled out the small bottle. He flicked the cap open and drizzled a healthy dose of the liquid over his cock, balls, and hand. He stroked himself off, the slick wetness spreading quickly. “Fuck yessss… this is so much better now. Thank you, Stiles.”

Scott could hear a strangled noise coming through the phone.

“You there, Stiles?”

“Y-yeah. You’re just making it really hard. Like, literally.”

Scott huffed a laugh. “Same.”

“Now that you’re all slicked up, rub one out for me, Scotty.”

Scott took hold of his prick and stroked its length, feeling its girth and weight in his hand, grunting at the change. With his other, he hovered over his opening, hesitant to plunge his finger in, even to the first knuckle, without Stiles’ permission.

“C-can I put my finger in too?”

“Oh yeah, babe,” said Stiles. “Do that. Nice and slow. Easy. Just the first knuckle. Just for now. Okay?”

“Yeah. Got it. Ungh….”

“Feels good?”

“Yeah,” said Scott, “fuck, Stiles. Wish this were you.”

“Me too, man,” said Stiles. “Oh shit this is too fucking filthy to be true.”

“Tell me about it,” said Scott. “Ungh… fuck. Stiles. Stiles, please. M-more. I need more. Wanna feel you inside.”

“Shit,” said Stiles. “Okay… now easy. Just slide up to the next knuckle. Do it now. Do it for me.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” said Scott. He was panting now. His thumb found his frenulum and he flicked at it. His hips canted again and his hole tightened around his finger until he relaxed again. He was so close it wasn’t funny, but he still needed that sweet spot that he knew was there. But he couldn’t disobey Stiles. He just couldn’t.

“Stay with me, Scotty,” whispered Stiles. “Stay with me. Just keep stroking. God, I can’t wait to see you like this.”

“I want you to give me orders like this when we’re together,” said Scott. “Just like this only you’re sitting across the room naked and hard. I want you to watch me. I want you to watch me come for you.”

“Son of a bitch,” said Stiles. “I’m fucking sweating over here, Scotty. And drooling. And hard as fuck. Ugh… Christ, you are so sexy, babe. Get in there with that finger now, Scott. All the way in. Find that g-spot. Come on. Come for me. I know you’ve got to be close.”

“I-I am…. Ssshit,” said Scott. He curled his finger under in the same way he always had and cried out when he found it. Blazing white light flashed in his head. His back arched and his grip got tighter on himself. It was always this way when he jerked off and caught that spot that stole the breath from his body, but somehow, when Stiles gave him permission, it upped the ante. Every fiber of his body craved that wave of pleasure that was slowly building, bumped up with each beat of his heart, each breath in his lungs, each touch of the tender spot his finger hovered over.

“Stiles!” cried Scott. “Stiles, please… I need to come. Please let me.”

“Yeah, Scotty,” said Stiles, seemingly breathless himself. “Go on. Come for me.”

Scott felt the pressure build and his balls tighten. He focused his stroke on the tip of his cock and the slow press of his fingers. The slick play of the skin under his fingertips as they circled his corona and caressed his head made his breath stutter. He was riding the wave now, no turning back. “I’m gonna… come. Gonna… AH! FUCK! STILES!”

Scott came over his hand and belly harder than he had in ages.

“Jesus Christ, Scotty,” said Stiles. “You are so fucking amazing. Shit!”

“Stiles,” murmured Scott as he removed his finger slowly and lazily stroked himself as he came down. “God damn.”

“Tell me about it,” said Stiles. “Hey buddy, listen: let me get your number. I need to hit the bathroom and uh… take care of myself.”

“You mean you want me to tell you what to do?”

“Oh my god,” said Stiles. “That is so completely hot. But no, if I were home, sure. But again: trying not to get arrested here. Remember?”

Scott laughed. “Yeah, that would suck. I mean, they’d try to put handcuffs on your dick.”

Stiles let out a bark of laughter. “You are so stupid. Stop it!”

“I mean,” said Scott, continuing with his giggling as he spoke, “there you are, hands behind your back, hard-on leading the way. One cop says to the next: ‘What should we do about his dick, sir?’ The other cop says: ‘Place that dangerous weapon under arrest!’”

“You are truly fucked up, you know that?” laughed Stiles. “Let me get your number, dork.”

Scott gave it over without a second thought. Stiles from State Farm could have pretty much anything he wanted at this point. And more.


End file.
